


The Landscape of Love

by lazarus_girl



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a vacation to Cabo with their closest friends, Santana and Brittany rekindle their relationship in secret. Determined to enjoy the time they have left, they break away from the others and consider what their future together could look like.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“She’ll remember this summer for a lot of reasons, and almost all of them are good.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Landscape of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [random_flores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_flores/gifts).



> Future fic. Canon compliant up to 5x08, diverts thereafter. My contribution to the [BFWFF 2014](http://themostrandomfandom.tumblr.com/post/76996608799/the-2014-brittana-fandom-winter-fic-fall-began-on). Written for and prompted by the lovely [nuthintasee](http://nuthintasee.tumblr.com), based around [this](https://24.media.tumblr.com/b5345ee97db7d065647e90e387f383e4/tumblr_n3or8wzciQ1txkikoo1_500.gif) gif (NSFW). I hope you like it! I wanted to create something that was lighter in tone, but still somewhat meaningful, based around the idea of reconnection. Brittana are the main focus here, but I also had fun creating backstory/futures for other characters that are referenced throughout. Thank you, as ever, to [itcameuponamidnightqueer](http://itcameuponamidnightqueer.tumblr.com) for the beta and cheerleading skills that saw me through four separate drafts and a serious case of writer’s panic!

***

 _“I say I'm in love with her. What does that mean?_  
_It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling._  
_It is though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read._  
_Wordlessly, she explains me to myself._  
_Like genius, she is ignorant of what she does.”_  
– Jeanette Winterson, _The Passion_.

***

This is one of those landmark moments that people file away in their own mental scrapbook. It’s the Kodak moment as they used to say. If Santana still kept a diary like she did in grade school, it’d probably be the kind of thing she’d have written inside, filed under ‘The Best Day Ever.’ Nowadays, it’s the kind of thing she tweets about or dedicates an Instagram to, but she won’t be doing any of that. Her phone will stay where it is, untouched on the nightstand. No one else gets to see anything. She wants to stay in this little bubble of bliss for as long as she can, never taking a second of it for granted. This is her secret. It’s the good kind of secret; the light and bright kind that makes her smile until her jaw aches instead of the crushing, dark kind she knows so well. It’s also possibly the worst kept one in the history of everything. Ever.

She and Brittany are back together. Officially (unofficially) as of four days ago. It just kind of happened. Whenever Santana imagined how it might go, she always pictured herself running through an airport or a train station to declare her undying love before it was too late – she’s _clearly_ spent too much time with Rachel and Kurt watching rom-coms – but it wasn’t anything like that. When it actually happened, they were just a little drunk, giddy from their night out, dancing to anything and everything. She kissed Brittany on impulse, caught up in the moment after watching the sunrise together. They didn’t stop kissing all the way back to the house in the cab, up the stairs or in her room, kissing every inch of skin they revealed as they undressed and rediscovered each other all over again. This time, it wasn’t something she thought was wrong, a mistake or an immediate regret. It felt right. It’s been building between them since Brittany spent the summer in New York, fresh off a research post with one of her professors. They haven’t been Brittany and Santana for a long time, and being around each other all the time was strange at first. Not awkward, exactly, because they’ve always been friends – even when that friendship came with some sweet benefits – but more that they weren’t exactly sure where the boundaries were. They didn’t know what to be to each other or how to feel about being happy in each other’s presence.

This whole vacation started out as something she and Rachel talked about to kill time while refilling the condiment bottles and cleaning tables at The Spotlight. It was just a small thing, with Brittany and Quinn coming along for the ride, but of course, Rachel couldn’t keep her mouth shut, and the whole thing snowballed. Everyone remotely related to New Directions ended up getting a call. Only Mercedes could come, and Rachel was having second thoughts about making it a girls only thing. Kurt ended up gatecrashing as an honorary girl to make up the numbers. Santana won’t admit this out loud, but it wouldn’t have been the same without him (the capsule wardrobe he helped her out with is ridiculously good). Money was pooled, house keys secured, flights booked, Rachel complied a very long list of things she insisted they do, and then everyone decided it should be a last hurrah kind of thing. A celebration of officially making it to twenty-five more or less unscathed, ready (or not) to enter a whole new phase of their lives.

It’s kind of nauseating how important they are to her – Rachel and Kurt particularly, because her connection with Brittany and Quinn has always been there, and Mercedes has been her girl since their Troubletones days – and how attached they’ve all become. It makes the final stage of the separation that’s happening in a few weeks all the more difficult. She wishes she didn’t know them all so well. She wishes even more she hadn’t gotten so used to them being around. It was better when she only had Brittany and Quinn and the only other feelings she had for the rest of the glee club were thinly-veiled annoyance and disgust, she’s certain of it. Mostly because it wouldn’t hurt as much.

She’ll remember this summer for a lot of reasons, and almost all of them are good. It’s gone by so fast and she’s been so busy that it’s only just starting to register that what everyone’s planned will actually play out. Brittany was the first to announce her acceptance to study neuroscience at Caltech, and for a while, it looked like they were going to be living on opposite coasts, but she was too proud of Brittany to say how much the idea of being even further apart made her feel. She had no right to feel sad or angry. Santana had no claims on her at all.

After Brittany made the break, it seemed to kick everyone else into gear. Everything they’d been working for or just hoping for seemed to click into place.

It didn’t hit her that Quinn was actually going to go to Sarah Lawrence and do her women’s studies thing at grad school until she, Brittany, Kurt and Rachel were all stood with her in empty shell of her Mount Vernon apartment, loaded down with boxes. Rachel finally landed her first real Broadway role, as Maureen in _RENT_ no less, and hasn’t shut up about it since. Kurt is talking to stores about stocking his burgeoning fashion line, and he’ll finally have someone other than Santana as his model when they do. Once they started talking about maybe getting a brownstone together in Brooklyn, it made Santana start to wonder what she should be doing with her life. Shortly after, Mercedes’ casual mention she was auditioning for band members and ready to start playing shows quickly snowballed into Santana being her new roommate and coming along to help. Before long, they were both sold on giving a music career one last shot.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she could leave New York or Rachel and Kurt – hell, they’ve grown on her – or throw away the only decent paying job she’s ever had. In the end, typically, it was Brittany who made her see what a great idea it was. She’s been pretty instrumental in persuading her to take up Mercedes offer, and not in the ‘I’ll follow you everywhere’ kind of way (Louisville taught her that lesson, and fast), but in the ‘I think this would be good for you,’ way. When she called Brittany to tell her about how she’d managed to swing an internship with Capital Music Group, she could practically hear her excitement buzzing down the line. It was the first call she made that day, even before her parents. Brittany was the only thought in her mind after she read the email. It didn’t matter that she was going to be living on Mercedes’ couch, photocopying and making coffee. All that mattered to her – and everyone else – was that she and Brittany were close again, and they were going to be living in the same city permanently, for the first time in years.

The days of living in that draughty old loft are gone. A chapter of her life is finished, and another one is beginning. The Bushwick Years are over.

(That’s kind of terrifying more than exciting, but she knows the balance will tip soon).

She’s been in a Cabo for almost three weeks now with Brittany, Quinn, Rachel, Mercedes and Kurt. In two days time they’ll be back on the plane, headed for home, and she really doesn’t want it to end. They’ve had free reign of her father’s beach house in San Jose del Cabo, because he actually trusts her not to burn it to the ground or blow his credit-limit on a party she won’t remember the next day. She’s not that girl anymore. It hasn’t been easy to stand on her own two feet, but she’s glad she kept trying. She’s glad she surrounded herself with the right people to help her along. It’s passed in a blur, and all she has to remember it by is hundreds of photos and videos and tweets that don’t quite measure up to what an experience.

It’s been fun, really good fun, and they’ve managed to do a lot of the things they planned. Mostly, their days have been spent sunning themselves on the veranda, flicking through gossip magazines and drinking whatever random cocktails she can recall from her stint at Coyote Ugly, but Santana’s found herself talked into snorkelling and swimming – she even tried surfing after Brittany’s pout and a tiny blue bikini proved too much to resist – and she managed not to whine too much when Quinn and Rachel ganged up on her to engage in some culture and behave like a tourist by doing the whole museums and sightseeing thing. She got shopping out of it, and some seriously good food, so there wasn’t actually a lot to complain about. The nights have been spent bar-hopping, always starting or ending things at El Squid Roe, dancing until the sun comes up and then sleeping until late in the afternoon. Even before she and Brittany started sleeping together again, Santana would wake up to find that she’s still Brittany’s little spoon, even after all this time.

Publicly, they’ve behaved as the always have; just close friends, cuddling and goofing around just like they did in the choir room at school – and yes they _still_ have to listen to Rachel sing. Privately, they’ve barely been able to keep their hands off each other. The second the bedroom door is closed; they’re tearing off each other’s clothes, desperately trying to keep quiet. The only thing that shushes Brittany and stops her from giggling like a naughty little schoolgirl is kisses, so Santana’s happy to oblige – worked when they used to sneak in to Coach Sylvester’s office and it still works now. It’s not a shame thing, not now – she’s _so_ over all that – but more a need to keep what’s between them special and perfect without people dissecting and making judgments. If she’s honest, she gets a kick out of sneaking around and stealing kisses. The passing years have done nothing to dull her feelings. They’re still as strong as they ever were. The sex is better though, and it was never bad to start with.

She guesses that’s what happens when you know someone, when you love someone like she loves Brittany – in a way there’s no name and no measure for.

Until now, far away from everyone and everything here in Cabo, they haven’t really had the opportunity to take a breath and reflect. Whether they’ve been in New York, Boston, Lima, or New Haven, there’s always been somewhere to go, someone or something to see, and they’ve had the buffer of the others between them, all clamouring in different but incredibly unsubtle ways to see them back as a couple.

Now they finally are here – they’re finally here, stars aligned, as they say – she couldn’t be happier. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet though. She’s half expecting to jolt awake and find it’s all been one very long lurid dream.

They haven’t made a huge announcement about it or anything, even though part of her wants to because she wants everyone to know that this is it now. She wants see Rachel to go nuts and clap like a seal. She wants to hear that little squeal that Kurt does whenever he’s ridiculously happy that she’s learned to shield her ears from. She wants Quinn and Mercedes to grin like idiots and never shut up about how much they ‘knew’ this would happen. They’re in it for the long haul, no matter how long that is. Brittany’s the girl she loved first. Brittany’s going to be the girl she’ll love last. Always. Forever. No break ups. No take backs. They’re not kids anymore. They’re going to make this work.

Everyone’s always kind of talked about them in the same breath, that they were a package deal, but now it’s more permanent. She and Brittany aren’t the only ones finally realising the love of their life was right under their nose. Though she’s never been a great believer in God, she can’t help but think it’s down to something more than just a simple twist of fate. She and Brittany have dissected all this during phone calls and emails but it’s still kind of crazy to think about now they’re back together.

Quinn and Puck were the first ones to make things official once he came to New York on leave – seeing him in that Air Force uniform, stripes and all now, is still weird. They’re both happier than she’s ever seen them, so she’s not about to give Quinn any shit for going there again. Meanwhile, thanks to the new improved, mellowed out version of Jesse St. James coming back into their lives, crossing paths during the cattle call of auditioning, Rachel’s got the happiness she so deserves after losing Finn. Santana’s seen a little too much of Jesse in his underwear waltzing around the loft but she’s never had the heart to complain. Mercedes surprised them all when a very familiar, but very different face showed up during a Skype session. Sitting next to her, all smiles, was none other than Matt _fucking_ Rutherford. Their collective gasp was hilarious. He got way hot –she’s still very much capable of appreciating that, just not in the bedroom– and way good at all the technology and production side of music. They’re adorable together, and pretty much set to become McKinley’s answer to Beyoncé and Jay-Z.

Sadly, Mercedes didn’t get to keep that A-grade gossip crown for long though, not when she and Rachel coaxed Kurt into accepting a friend request from Dave Karofsky to get him out of a dating disaster funk. They didn’t say just friends for long. Of course, Dave isn’t really Dave at all now. He’s David, an assistant basketball scout for Syracuse; all confident and ridiculously well-groomed. A happy Karofsky is a strange thing to witness. Santana counts him as one of her real friends now, not fake friend, and they’ve spent far too much time playing pool or binge-watching _Mad Men_ on Netlfix sitting in their pyjamas for that not to be true. Brittany thinks it’s awesome. Hell, _she_ thinks it’s awesome. Kurt doesn’t get it at all, but that’s nothing new. Santana knows they both come from very different worlds.

Time; that was all they needed. Time to grow and change, so they’re settled in their skin. She’s glad she took the risk that night; brave enough to put herself out there again and offer Brittany her heart, even more fearful of when she did it the first time. Love is always worse when you know what it feels like to have your heart broken. Love is worse still when you still adore the person who did the breaking. She hurt Brittany (and herself) needlessly, and she’s lucky that Brittany realised her intentions were good. She loves her too much sometimes, and the need to protect her makes Santana do crazy things. It might’ve taken them nearly six years to find their way back to each other since they broke up on that October day in the choir room, but they’ve made it. Everything is in the right place. She knows who she is, where she’s going with her life and so does Brittany. They’re both single; no one they’ve dated over the years – casually or otherwise – since Dani and Sam has really stuck, and there’s a good reason for that. All the tears and the heartache they got through with and without each other were meant to happen.

They were meant to happen so she could appreciate this. Her life is finally near what she dreamed of it being stuck in her bedroom in Lima. Back when all she wanted to be was anywhere _but_ that bedroom; wanting for so much more, terrified of that wanting, but wanting it all the same. Now, she’s in a much bigger room, looking out a picture postcard view she’s so often taken for granted when she came here as a child. The sky is clearer and bluer than she’s ever seen it. There’s a cool breeze from the open windows that takes the edge off the late September heat, and sound of the waves rolling in is comforting in a way she’s never experienced before.

She sighs contently, rolling on to her back and watching the ceiling fan turn above her head until it starts to make her feel dizzy. Except, she’s had that feeling all the while; like she’s not fully anchored to the ground all of a sudden. That’s nothing to do with the heat or last night’s drinking and everything to do with Brittany. Smiling to herself, she reaches out, smoothing the spot where Brittany was lying a while ago. Santana turns over, burying her nose in Brittany’s pillow and inhaling deeply. The scent of her perfume, and the scent of her, lingers; sweet and heady. For a moment, Santana lets her eyes close and revels in it all. They’re alone in the house after the others left earlier this morning on a tour to swim with dolphins. She’s been before, and so has Brittany; she railroaded her father into taking them when they were back in middle school, milking her parents recent divorce for all it was worth.

Sensing an opportunity to get some much-needed alone time with Brittany without anyone else around – the fact she’s still somehow horny as hell even though they barely slept had nothing to do with it – she faked feeling sick. It was Oscar worthy-material, even Quinn was convinced, so she’s feeling incredibly pleased with herself. Brittany played along perfectly, offering to stay behind and take care of her, glint in her eye all the while. No sooner had the others left, than Brittany was back in her bed – their bed – naked, and they haven’t left it since. The only reason Brittany is up now is to get them some beer and give her time to recharge for round two – really it’s more like round six. Bless spinning classes and bikram yoga with Rachel that’s all she can say.

“Britt!” she calls out, looking toward the open door, straining to see if Brittany will matieralise from around the corner. “What the fuck are you doing? Come back to bed!”

Nothing. She squints to see without her contacts, rubbing at her eyes. Her glasses are _somewhere_ and she should really put them on because she’ll get a bitch of a headache otherwise, but hey, she won’t need those glasses once Brittany’s back. She knows every inch of her now – it’s entirely possible they could fuck with their eyes closed. Luckily, the closer they are, the clearer she sees, so they’re golden.

When there’s no response, she calls out again, singsong, hoping Brittany will cave.

“Please? I’m sure there’s parts of you I haven’t kissed yet!”

OK, so that was a little cringe-worthy, but hey, if she can’t say it to Brittany now, in this blissful little honeymoon phrase they’re in, when can she?

“You could always move that pretty little ass and come to me!” Brittany yells back, finally, sounding much further away than Santana thought. “It’s such a beautiful day, San. We should go swimming in the pool while no one else is around.”

Now, _that’s_ something she could work with. They have spent time in there, but that time involved lying on pool loungers or playing chicken and splashing each other like they’re twelve, Kurt screaming anytime anyone goes near his hair. It’s pretty secluded here, so no one would even see. She’s always had a thing about sex in water – what? It feels good – and sex in public. It’s all to do with the thrill of getting caught; that spike of adrenaline that shutters through you. She’s kind of an exhibitionist and so is Brittany, so it wouldn’t take much to sell it to her.

The image alone is enough to make Santana move. She sits up, debating whether to go and look for Brittany, because she can hear her pottering around and making noise in the kitchen; drawers and doors clattering. A sneak attack perhaps, like the one Brittany pulled that saw her slammed against the refrigerator, being kissed within an inch of her life the moment the front door clicked shut behind Mercedes and the others. Her impatience loses out to her laziness. This bed is too comfortable and she doesn’t want the chlorine to fuck up her hair again. Anyway, she _is_ supposed to be sick, so if they all come back to find her and Brittany going at it in the pool, then it’ll ruin this little thing they have going.

Instead, she rearranges the pillows and then herself, fluffing her hair and trying to smooth it down so she looks halfway decent when she catches sight of herself in the nearby mirror. There’s no real nice way to be on a bed when you’re not sleeping or having sex. It’s just awkward. When she factors in the fact she’s completely naked, her tank and sleep shorts strewn on the floor with Brittany’s own, it’s even more awkward, but she’ll just have to deal with it (and try not to think about how much this reminds her of the lesbian pornos she and Puck used to watch on his laptop). The primping makes no real difference; her hair still looks all crazy and tousled. The curls Mercedes set in it last night with her iron have mostly dropped out, and her lipstick is long, _long_ gone. The only thing on the bed apart from her is the pillows. Everything else got tossed in the night when it was too hot to sleep – and kind of too hot for sex, but hey it happened anyway. It’s kind of sexy if she’s honest. Everything about her says ‘yes, I’ve had a lot of sex and I like it.’ They’re making up for lost time after all.

She puffs out a breath, appraising herself again in the mirror.

“Looking good, Lopez.”

There’s an unmistakable peel of laughter and Santana jumps. She looks up to see Brittany standing in the doorway, two bottles of Corona in hand. She’s equally dishevelled, wearing the smallest pair of lace panties Santana knows she owns, and a Coyote Ugly t-shirt that’s zigzagged its way back and forth from Lima, Boston and New York ever since Santana bought it for her.

“Creep much? Jesus!” she exclaims, hand clutched to her chest, heart somewhere in her throat for the briefest of moments.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You’re so cute when you do that,” Brittany snickers.

“I try. Just making myself nice,” Santana says with a smile. “I was about to send a distress text,” she adds, nodding towards her phone. “Getting lonely here, B. What’s a girl to do?”

“For the record honey, _you_ asked for the beer,” she reminds her, with a knowing look. “You’re nice enough already though."

“Which is why you went and got it for me,” she replies, smugly, all too aware of how easily she could get Brittany to do just about anything if she gives her the puppy dog eyes for long enough (which is about two seconds).

“I’m only here because you said please,” she purrs, putting the bottle to her lips and taking a long sip. “And I’m a sucker for really pretty naked girls who drink Coronas and stay in bed all day.”

“Really? That’s weird. So am I!” Santana exclaims dramatically, hand to her chest. “It’s such a niche fetish and so hard to satisfy on a regular basis!”

Brittany rolls her eyes. “It’s good we found each other then. Kindred spirits huh?” she smiles, starting to cross the room.

They both look at each other, acknowledging the moment. Brittany’s smile widens to a grin, matching her own. Yes, this is still right, days later, even if the timing of it all is way, _way_ off. She turns to look at Brittany fully, sun streaming in from the windows and striking her just so. She looks beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. For a second, Santana forgets to breathe. If she weren’t hopelessly in love with her already, she would be now.

Brittany’s close, but not close enough and time is not on their side. She needs her. Again. Now.

“C’mere you,” she drawls, up on her knees near the end of the bed, wagging a come hither finger in Brittany’s direction.

“Always so demanding Miss Lopez.” Brittany shakes her head, still drinking in quick delicate sips.

Santana’s mouth gets even drier. Brittany’s not really walking anymore. It’s more like she’s dancing to a song only she can hear, humming as she twists and turns. “Good things come to those wait.”

“Oh, I know they do,” Santana breathes, licking her lips, eyes raking over every inch of Brittany as she draws nearer.

The room is somehow twice as big as it was. She’s not so concerned about the fact she was practically dying of thirst now.

Brittany’s fingertips trace temptingly close to the hem of her t-shirt; fingers curling, lifting the material a little, and then stopping only to do it all over again on a loop. Santana swallows hard, tongue darting out to wet her lips; willing Brittany to pull it off. It’s still a tease, to see the all too thin strip of exposed skin peep out whenever she moves. Maybe she wants more now because she knows exactly how that skin feels; soft and smooth tinged with salt and sweat sliding against her own.

“Take off your shirt.”

A firm shake of the head is her reply, and then a teasing, “Not yet.”

The beer can wait. It can go flat or evaporate for all she cares. She has more important things on her mind. Like Brittany naked underneath her; panting and desperate, calling out her name over and over while she goes down on her – the day that’s boring to Santana is her last day breathing – except this time, they don’t have to worry about keeping quiet. She’s the loud one, but _fuck_ , if it isn’t the hottest thing ever when Brittany lets go in just the same way.

Santana lets out a frustrated groan, only just able to stop short of grabbing hold of her. Instead, she flops back down on to the bed, legs hanging over the side.

“For you, Madame,” Brittany declares, amused, offering her the other bottle with a flourish.

“Thanks babe,” she throws her a wink, pulling Brittany toward her until she settles in Santana’s lap, straddling her. “Seriously,” she continues, curling Brittany’s hair behind her ear, “you’re an angel. You totally didn’t have to go. I’m not actually sick.”

“I know,” Brittany shrugs. “I like taking care of you, except now that involves plying you with alcohol instead of mopping your brow, which is probably counterproductive, but whatever.”

Santana bursts out laughing. “Oh, I think it’s a very productive use of time. This is totally medicinal.”

She takes another sip, just for show, grinning.

“I missed you,” Brittany murmurs, pressing a kiss to Santana’s cheek and threading her free arm around Santana’s neck to balance herself. “I missed this … Just think, it’ll be like this all the time soon when we get to California.”

“I can live with that. Not sure that Mercedes and Matt could though!”

California. She’d forgotten about that. How she doesn’t know since it’s been in her thoughts pretty much every day since she decided to go at all. Right now, she just wants to stay here, and shut out the rest of the world. She takes a long overdue drink, revelling in its coolness. It’s probably not a great idea since they’ve been drinking so much over the last few days, but sometimes, cold beer hits the spot, and they’re certainly not lightweights anymore. If she hadn’t given up smoking to save her voice and make it so she’s not wheezing at work, she’d indulge now. Better still, she’d spark up a joint and share it with Brittany like they used to back in high school whiling away summer afternoons in Brittany’s little sister’s tree house sharing headphones and listening to music. They had some good times there. Some _really_ good times, just being together, doing nothing. Up until right now, it’s the most comfortable she’s been with anyone.

“We not crazy for doing this are we? Turning our lives upside down?” Brittany asks, clearly second-guessing herself.

We. She said we. It suddenly and belatedly registers in Santana’s mind that before they were just going to California. They’d maybe catch the same flight, sit next to each other and split the cab fare later on. She’d stay over at Mercedes’ place in West Hollywood for few days and then they’d go their separate ways, commuting back and forth between there and Pasadena to see each other. Santana would end up being the perpetual third wheel around Mercedes and Matt until… well, forever. But now, she doesn’t have to be the wheel, they’re going to California _together_. It’s a huge deal, and they probably _are_ nuts to leave the safety of New York and Boston behind for good. But whatever, you only get one life and she’s seen too much to know that you shouldn’t waste chances. Life is way too short. What happened to Finn is cruel proof of that.

“We might be, but I can’t think of a better reason why, Britt-Britt,” Santana answers, leaning up to briefly press her lips against Brittany’s.

“You haven’t called me that in forever,” Brittany muses, softly, kissing her again for no real reason.

“It’s still OK, right?” Santana asks, worried she’s overstepped some invisible line.

“Of course!” Brittany exclaims. “It’ll always be OK,” she affirms, stroking Santana’s cheek.

“I do know something though,” she begins, haltingly, unsure if what’s on the tip of her tongue is too much.

Brittany tilts her head down, watching intently, listening closer still, like she’s about to hear a secret. She is. “What’s that?”

“That we won’t regret this ….We won’t regret trying again.”

Brittany’s lower lip wobbles, her voice cracking when she answers, “No, not at all. I’m scared that once we leave here, it won’t be the same, but I’m scared of losing you again more.”

Santana opens her mouth to reply, tell her that she’s been feeling the same; afraid that it could end as soon as they touch down at the airport has been nagging at the back of her mind, and she’s glad it’s finally out there – feeling a sudden shift in mood, but Brittany puts a finger to her lips to stop her. When she moves it away again, Santana nods, motioning for her to continue.

“I know you, remember?” is all Brittany starts with, and Santana feels like crying; whether that’s with joy or happiness, she’s not sure. “I don’t plan on losing you though. Not this time. You’re stuck with me forever, just so you know.”

They both laugh and it lightens the mood, breaking the tension that’s suddenly built up. God Santana wishes they could’ve been this open and honest before. Part of why it all unravelled so spectacularly the first time around was because they carried too much around and let it fester, so terrified of hurting each other that they ended up hurting themselves even more.

Through bleary eyes, Santana raises her beer bottle, clinking it toast with Brittany’s and they drain the dregs that are left. When the beer’s all, they both puff out a breath, the weight of the moment lifting from them.

“I think we’re done with these,” Brittany declares with a grin, taking Santana’s empty bottle and reaching down to put them on the floor.

“Know what I think?” Santana asks, threading her arms around Brittany’s waist and waiting for her to turn back. “I think, forever sounds good to me.”

Brittany lets out a squeal of delight, and then she’s smiling, big and bright and beautiful.

“I’m in,” Santana whispers after a moment, watching as her words fully register, kissing Brittany gently on the lips.

It sounds a lot like ‘I love you.’

The kisses don’t stay gentle for long. Brittany grabs her face, attacking her with barrage of quick kisses, and Santana’s hands fly to Brittany’s shirt, tugging at it hard wrestle her free. It’s a struggle, because neither of them wants to stop kissing, laughter escaping when they break for air.

“B, one second,” Santana says, breathless, when they finally pull away, “Let me get this.”

Shifting on to her knees, she reaches around, freeing the tangled mess and tossing the shirt to the floor.

“Better?” Santana asks, stroking the back of her hand up from Brittany’s navel to strike the underside of her breasts, teasing but not touching, even though she wants to because Brittany has the most perfect boobs she’s ever seen, and she just wants to touch and tease, suck and lick just like Brittany loves.

“Better,” Brittany echoes, with the most lascivious smile on her face Santana’s ever seen.

Before she can really do or say anything else, they’re kissing again; filthy, open-mouthed kisses, Brittany has her pinned to the mattress, hands stroking her stomach. It always goes like this. She fully intends to be the one in control, and then she sees that look in Brittany’s eye: hunger, desire and such love all mixed together, Santana’s just _gone_ , unable to resist. Her eyes flutter closed as Brittany latches on to her neck, kissing a quick path all the way down to her collarbone, nipping slightly and then soothing the spot with her tongue before repeating it in verse.

When she gets to the patch of softest skin, below her ear, Santana squirms, giggling as she tries to push Brittany away. “Stop it, that tickles!”

“What would you rather have me do?” Brittany asks, low and teasing in her ear.

“I can think of a few – ”

The rest of her sentence is cut off by a gasp. Brittany’s hands have moved upwards, massaging her breasts, her thumbs flicking idly at Santana’s nipples. They stiffen at the contact.

“How about that?”

Just from the sound of Brittany’s voice – playful and laced with desire – Santana gasps. When Brittany’s high slides between her legs, hitting in just the right spot, that gasp gets louder. She pulls Brittany down toward her, hand cradling the back of her hand, fingers threading deep into her hair and their mouths meet in a heated, desperate kiss.

“That’s _really_ good,” she murmurs, forcing herself to focus, “But I have better.”

Brittany quirks an eyebrow, suspicious, and her “Oh yeah?” is cut short by a squeal of surprise when Santana flips them both over.

Now Santana has her right where she wants her. Again.

“You just wait, baby… you just wait,” she declares, grinning.

She sinks down slowly, her hands either side of Brittany’s head until their bodies are completely flush. In the scant space that’s left, Brittany tilts her head up for another kiss. This one is slower and deeper. Santana teases Brittany’s mouth open, brushing her tongue against Brittany’s lower lip, sucking in her bottom lip and keeping hold for a few seconds until she gives in. When Santana’s kisses drift, tracing a slow trail down Brittany’s neck toward the valley of her breasts, Brittany lets out a low moan, arching her back, and Santana reaches around, holding Brittany tightly as she tilts her head to the left and encloses her lips around Brittany’s nipple.

A quiet, desperate “Oh” falls from Brittany’s lips at that, and now she’s doing the squirming. It’s glorious. Santana’s trying to be good; to savour this and go slow, so Brittany gets every drop of pleasure out of this while they have the time to do it, but she just can’t. It’s too much, feeling Brittany everywhere and hearing her little staccato breaths as Santana swirls and sucks at Brittany’s nipples in turn, peppering kisses all over her chest in between. It’s just kissing, but she’s never heard Brittany like this before. Maybe it’s the time, maybe it’s the distance or maybe it’s just because Santana knows what she loves so well, but it feels like so much _more_. It’s making her embarrassingly wet.

Despite Santana’s best efforts, she can’t hold out, sliding further down Brittany’s body to while her mouth presses kisses all over her ribcage and her stomach, delighting when Brittany’s muscles flex at the contact. She stops to press a deliberate kiss just above Brittany’s belly button, and glances upward, smiling. The sight that greets her is one she knows well, but never tires of. Brittany has her head thrown back, her lips just parted. Her hair is a wild tangle, some over her flushed face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Santana breathes, and kisses the same spot again. “I’m gonna show you how much I missed you,” smiling against Brittany’s skin when she obediently lifts her hips so Santana can take off her panties.

“Show me …. Please … baby,” Brittany urges, desperate. “I want you so bad.”

She’s not about to deny her. Carefully, she moves back, kneeling between Brittany’s legs as she peels her underwear down with teasing slowness, feeling her own heart start to pound with anticipation. As soon as they’re off, thrown behind her without care, she turns her attention back to Brittany. She moves forward, nudging Brittany’s legs apart, guiding them to spread wider by planting barely there kisses along the inside of her left thigh. Purposefully, Santana waits, making sure to anchor herself, wrapping her arms around Brittany’s thighs, stroking them as she dips her head down for the first taste of Brittany. It’s not her first taste ever by a long shot, hell, it’s not even her first taste today, she’d gone down on her twice before the others had even surfaced for breakfast. This time; making contact with that delicious slick heat, tracing the length of Brittany’ folds with her tongue, it feels different. It feels new, and just _better_ than it has before.

It’s good. So. Very. Good.

For a while, all she can hear is the sound of Brittany’s breathing – shallower and quicker than it was; the sheets rustling as Brittany twists them in her grip; and the glorious, filthy sound of her own mouth and tongue as she works her over. When she delves deeper, drawing Brittany’s clit into her mouth, a hand flies to the back of her head, urging her on. Santana can’t get enough either. Everything else falls away, and her only thought is Brittany. Knowing that Brittany’s ready for more, picks up her pace, lapping and sucking relentlessly. This won’t take very long. She’s greedy and Brittany’s desperate and that makes for a pretty explosive mix. She’s aching to touch herself, but holds back, determined to focus on Brittany, resorting to grinding her hips down against the mattress, seeking enough friction just to take the edge off.

“Yes ... Oh _fuck_ Santana … Yes!”

And there it is. The magic f-word that sounds so incredibly different coming from Brittany that it does from her own potty mouth.

God, the taste of her is amazing, and even though she doesn’t want to stop, Santana can’t resist sharing it either. Brittany whines when she moves away, kneeling back to look at her. On impulse, Santana licks her lips, tasting Brittany all over again.

“You taste so _fucking_ good, B,” she groans

Brittany gulps, eyes growing wide.

“Wanna see?” she asks, innocently, glancing up through her lashes, purposefully coy.

The look on Brittany’s face is priceless. Her eyes flutter closed and she nods. Without breaking eye contact, Santana reaches between Brittany’s legs, and circling her clit in quick circles before sliding down and fingers curling briefly inside of her. Brittany’s mouth falls open, in a neat, soundless ‘O’ shape, and Santana slowly draws her fingers away. Then, she trails her hand slowly up Brittany’s stomach, smirking as Brittany lifts her head, eager. She makes her wait, tracing the shape of Brittany’s mouth with her fingers, watching intently as Brittany takes them inside one by one, sucking them clean with obscene relish, humming appreciatively, sighing contentedly when she releases them. Santana’s never been more turned on in her life.

She lurches forward, lips colliding with Brittany’s, and it’s her turn for greed. It’s hard and desperate and overeager; all teeth and tongue, but she doesn’t much care. She just needs her. She needs her now. Santana reaches around, grabbing back of Brittany’s legs, pressing her own thigh between them. Brittany envelopes her completely, hands in Santana’s hair, legs wrapped around Santana’s waist, bringing their bodies flush. Santana moans at the contact; low and needy. When they grudgingly break for air, she rests her forehead against Brittany’s and they just look each other, waiting for their breathing to even out, chests heaving. They hover on the edge of another kiss, silent, as they search each other.

Santana cradles Brittany’s face in both of her hands, stroking with her thumbs; desperate to say something, but there’s nothing to communicate the depth of what she’s feeling.

Then, the words come to her; short, sweet and simple, but no less true: “I love you, Brittany Susan Pierce. I love you.”

Brittany lets out a shuddering breath, eyes wet with tears, and they kiss again; gentle and languid.

“I love you too,” Brittany breathes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “So much.”

Santana sighs, on the verge of tears herself, carefully wiping Brittany’s away. She presses a soft kiss to her lips, barely brushing, in silent acknowledgement, rendered speechless. They don’t need to say anything more. Brittany pulls her closer, squeezing her tighter. Santana never wants to let her go again.

They’ve entered into their relationship knowingly this time around, and she has a new appreciation for every little thing. It’s perfect. Brittany’s perfect. Brittany’s beautiful, and _Jesus_ all she wants to do is look at this girl for every second for the rest of her life. She wants to wake up with her every morning and go to sleep with her every night. Deep down, she’s always wanted that, even when every damn bone in her body rallied against it. Now, there’s nothing and no one to say she can’t have it. Brittany is hers. She’ll give herself completely without reservation in return, long after the memories of this trip have begun to dim around the edges and fade far into the back of her mind.


End file.
